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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509959">Through Fire and Flames</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona'>ladydragona</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylWritesStuff/pseuds/SylWritesStuff'>SylWritesStuff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Simply Meant to Be [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Nightmare Before Christmas Fusion, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), First Meetings, dying and then coming back</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 03:54:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylWritesStuff/pseuds/SylWritesStuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all citizens of Halloween Town are born or created there. Some arrive via other means.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Simply Meant to Be [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Through Fire and Flames</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><span class="u">ladydragona</span><br/>So I had this idea ever since Syl and I wrote Sit Together. It's a bit morbid but also thematically appropriate, I think. If you would like a more detailed explanation of the death tags, that will be in the end notes!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A searing heat burning across charred skin.</p>
<p>Screams</p>
<p>Cries of anguish.</p>
<p>The crackling of flames and a distant siren growing closer.</p>
<p>A final plea of <em>please make it stop</em> before the heat turned to an icy chill and silence reigned supreme. The sudden cold seeping into blackened bones and skin, but not smothering the embers within entirely.</p>
<p>He did not know how long he slept, dreams of dancing fire and floating embers playing in his mind. The deep sleep was difficult to wade through, like swimming in a pool of black treacle, but behind the flames he could see a figure. Long fingers beckoning him forward and encouraging him to keep moving one step at a time.</p>
<p>The figure was familiar, strangely so, but the memory of them was like dry sand slipping between his fingers. Coloured lights, happy music, and an uncanny feeling of wrongness. Something about that figure, that person, was not quite right. Movements too fluid and loose, joints in the wrong places, a cackling laughter that ended in a hiss. Part of his mind screamed not to go to them. An ancient warning from times long past saying “predator, enemy, danger” that was ignored.</p>
<p>He knew, without really remembering, that he rarely ever did what he was told.</p>
<p>So he followed the person through the flames and over hot coals that seared his feet. Everytime he thought it was too much, that he should turn back, go back to… where? There? Somewhere. Somewhere boring and dull.</p>
<p>This wasn’t dull, though. This was the opposite of dull.</p>
<p>And so he continued on. Chasing an apparition, a shadow, that no matter how hard he tried or how long he walked, was always just out of reach.</p>
<p>The fire slowly, gradually, almost without notice, died. Smothered to orange embers. Their glow, what meager light had been shed, dampened and was unable to cut through the oppressive darkness.</p>
<p>His guide, the long-fingered shadow, did not wait for him. The hissing and laughing slowly grew distant and muffled. He tried to reach out, grasp the hand of the figure that blended with the shadows, but his limbs were heavy and sluggish.</p>
<p>How long had he been walking? He barely even felt the burn of coals at his feet anymore. Time was meaningless here. No sun or moon or stars. What were those anyway? Could he even remember? The memories of such things were so far and distant.</p>
<p>He tried to call out to the figure, to beg them not to leave him alone in this dark fiery place that burned his feet and slowed his body, but when he opened his mouth something thick and gritty slid inside and all the fire was snuffed out. Coughing and sputtering only seemed to make it worse. He clawed forward and up, grasping chunks of something wet and thick, spurred on by the need to find air, the need to be able to breathe.</p>
<p>When his fingertips finally met cool nothing instead of moist sludge he could have shouted for joy. The wet mess he’d been encased in slowly falling away and revealing dim light and fresh air.</p>
<p>He only made it halfway, legs mostly forgotten, when he collapsed onto wet dirt. Gasping for breath and spitting black dirt from his mouth. It was almost an afterthought to pull his legs the rest of the way and take stock of where he was.</p>
<p>Thick cloud cover blotted out the sun, casting the dreary landscape in muted grey light. He coughed out more of the mud and dirt into nearby dead grass, kneeling on hands and knees. Absolutely caked in black mud, he couldn’t even see the skin of his arms beneath it and it would surely never wash out of his hair. He slowly gulped fresh crisp air, so crisp the bite of it chilled him to the core, and took stock of his surroundings.</p>
<p>It was a graveyard, that much was certain. Ancient crumbling headstones dotted the bleak landscape, gnarled trees with their empty limps scratching at the sky, the only splash of color the occasional orange pumpkin peeking out from behind wilted grass. Off far to one side, he could just barely make out the tops of slightly less dead trees and on the other, just over a hill, was a cobblestone wall covered in long dead ivy.</p>
<p>The place was incredibly, terribly, unfamiliar. “H-hello?” he called.</p>
<p>The wind answered him with a howl.</p>
<p>He slowly pushed himself up onto shaking legs and was startled at the unexpected sound of a yip. Peeking out from behind a tree just a few metres away was the transparent head of a small terrier. Something in the back of his mind recognized the creature as a “ghost,” and he had the vague idea he should be horrified by the sight of it, but he wasn’t.</p>
<p>The pup gave another bark before bolting back behind the tree and, despite not knowing where he was or why, he gave chase. The little thing was quick, though. Bouncing easily over broken headstones, massive pumpkins, and even the occasional open grave. He had to skirt around most of the obstacles, especially the graves which gave him a distinctly uneasy feeling.</p>
<p>It felt almost as if the ghost dog was wanting him to follow, though. Everytime he was certain he’d lost it, the little thing would pop up and yip until he gave chase again.</p>
<p>They raced across the desolate cemetery until he quite simply couldn’t anymore. Eventually coming to rest with his shoulder against a gnarled tree and watching as the ghost dog leapt over a short cobblestone wall, he panted. He'd done more than enough wandering, thanks. </p>
<p>“Oh, come oooon. Don’t you get tired?” he panted, pushing himself off the tree to slowly stagger after it. “Can we, like, stop for a minute?” He slumped over the wall with a groan.</p>
<p>“'Course you can. Dog would have waited.”</p>
<p>He blinked up at the sound of the new voice. The wall he was leaning over separated the cemetery from a massive pumpkin patch and sitting in the center, surrounded by pumpkins larger than he was, was a boy.</p>
<p>“Erm. Dog?”</p>
<p>The other boy stood, brushing bits of carved pumpkin from his trousers. “Yeah. Dog, my dog.”</p>
<p>“That’s a dumb name for a dog.”</p>
<p>He shrugged and approached. “I suppose. I’m Adam, by the way. You come from the cemetery, then?”</p>
<p>“Uh.” He looked behind him at the rolling expanse of said cemetery. “Is there somewhere else I should have come from?”</p>
<p>Adam shrugged again. “Coulda come from the woods, the Swamp - just about anywhere, really. Cemetery’s the most common one, though.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Yeah, then, I guess I did… Is this normal?” It didn’t <em>seem</em> normal. It seemed the opposite of normal, but he couldn’t remember what <em>normal</em> even was.</p>
<p>“It’s not <em>not</em> normal.”</p>
<p>That… didn’t help. “What is that even supposed to mean?” he groaned, dirty fingers running through dirty hair.</p>
<p>“Means what it means,” Adam said with a wicked grin. “Some come out of the cemetery, a few from the woods, I think the Swamp Thing just manifested on its own from the swamp, and some are just born here naturally. Don’t really have a ‘normal’ so nothing is not normal. Just is what it is.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t make any sense.”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t have to. Just how it is ‘round here.”</p>
<p>“Where is <em>here</em> anyway?” Maybe this would be a safer topic with less riddles. He hated riddles.</p>
<p>“Oh! Right!” Adam straightened up and cleared his throat. “Allow me to officially welcome you to Halloween Town.”</p>
<p>“Halloween Town?” That sounded… familiar. Sort of. Like a distant tickle in the back of his mind. “Isn’t Halloween, like, a holiday?”</p>
<p>Adam nodded vigorously. “Yeah! Wow, not everyone remembers even that much. Our town’s dedicated to Halloween. We make sure the holiday goes right and-- Well, I say 'we.' It’s mostly Crowley’s job, but we help. The town and all.”</p>
<p>“I… I still don’t understand. Why would a holiday need anyone to make it go right? You just… do it.”</p>
<p>“Hmm… It’s hard to explain,” Adam said as he hopped onto the short wall and swung his legs over, Dog following right behind. “Let’s go find Crowley; he’s the expert. ‘Sides, I need to let him know I finished carving the pumpkins he wanted.”</p>
<p>That seemed logical to him, at least. Better to find an expert who actually knew what they were talking about. “Let’s go then, I guess.”</p>
<p>He expected Adam to lead them towards the gate in the large wall just a few metres away, but instead he marched across the cemetery in the opposite direction, heading for the thick forest that loomed tall and dark in the distance.</p>
<p>“Wait. Are we going into the woods?”</p>
<p>“Yup!” Adam said. “That’s where Crowley said he’d be, and I haven’t seen him come back yet.”</p>
<p>“It looks big. Do you even know <em>where</em> in the forest?”</p>
<p>“'Course I do. He has a spot. Him and Aziraphale.”</p>
<p>Well, Adam seemed confident. “You better not get us lost.”</p>
<p>Adam rolled his eyes. “Some beings might get lost in the Infernal Woods, but not me. You should stick close though. We don’t usually find the ones who <em>do</em> get lost.”</p>
<p>That didn’t sound very safe, but he didn’t know what else to do but follow after this strange Adam, carefully avoiding the open graves which became more numerous as they reached the forest's edge. “Is it dangerous? Is that why people don’t come back?”</p>
<p>“Maybe. Why? You scared?” Adam asked, the wicked grin returning.</p>
<p>“What? No! 'Course I’m not. Just, you know, askin'.”</p>
<p>Adam laughed. “Nothin’ wrong if you are. Kinda the point of Halloween… You know, I just realized I never asked your name. You can use your old one, if you remember it, or you can make one up. No one really cares.”</p>
<p>Did he remember his name? It was such an odd question, but he found the answer didn’t come right away like it did for other things. It was like there was a fog over his mind, most of the specifics muted and unclear. Like his body, mired in mud. </p>
<p>He frowned down at the autumn leaf-covered ground. He was <em>sure</em> he had a name, positive of it, in fact. It was right there at the tip of his tongue... </p>
<p>“Don’t try too hard. If you can’t remember, you can’t remember. Can always just make a new one.”</p>
<p>“But I <em>have</em> a name. I know I do.”</p>
<p>“Well yeah, 'course you do. Just sometimes you can’t remember and have to make a new one. Don’t worry too much about it.”</p>
<p>That didn’t really help, but he didn’t really have a chance to keep worrying about it because Adam was leading him into a burned out clearing in the trees. It wasn’t much brighter than the forest itself, the sunlight still reduced by that thick cloud cover overheard, but it did illuminate a man dressed in cream and beige with a patchwork coat and a massive black and red snake draped across his shoulders.</p>
<p>He stopped short at the sight while Adam strolled right up to the pair. “Hey, Crowley. Hey, Aziraphale. We got someone new.”</p>
<p>“Hello!” the patchwork being greeted with a cheerful wave towards the dirty, child-sized newcomer. Then he wiggled excitedly and set his crooked pencil in the crease of his book. It freed his hand to stroke the underside of the serpent's chin. “Up you get, dearest. We've a new arrival.”</p>
<p>The snake yawned, unhinging his jaw wide enough to swallow a whole head. “Whazssat?”</p>
<p>Adam turned around to grab the dirt-and-filth-covered boy and drag him closer. “Got someone new. Came right up to me while I was carving the pumpkins you wanted, which I'm done with by the way.”</p>
<p>He tried to resist by digging his heels in the dirt but Adam was relentless. “I thought you said we were going to see an expert!” he hissed in Adam's ear.</p>
<p>“We are.” He pointed to the snake and the man it was wrapped around. “Crowley’s the Pumpkin King. He’s in charge ‘round here.”</p>
<p>The snake just sighed. “Adam, you are abysssmal at exssplaining.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale beamed. “That is why you're in charge, Crowley. Perhaps you should adapt some limbs. He might have enough of his past to be wary of talking serpents.”</p>
<p>Said talking serpent grumbled something about “having a good nap ruined,” and slid right off Aziraphale’s shoulders, body changing as he did until the snake was replaced by a tall, lanky, man whose limbs didn’t seem to quite know what to do now that they existed. He sat down beside the patchwork being and waved a hand. “Alright, new kid, what has Adam told you?”</p>
<p>He gaped at this Crowley person instead of answering. It wasn’t the snake becoming a man thing - that had almost seemed expected once the snake had <em>talked</em> - but it was how familiar he was. Even if the flaming red hair and angular face hadn’t given it away, the yellow snake eyes were unmistakable. “I know you.”</p>
<p>Crowley frowned dramatically. “That’s highly unlikely.”</p>
<p>“But I do! You’re… you’re not-santa!”</p>
<p>Aziraphale slanted Crowley an arch sort of look. “He certainly isn't.”</p>
<p>“Oi. I put in a damned good effort for the Christmas thing,” Crowley grumbled, nudging Aziraphale with his shoulder. “Now how do you know about that? What do you remember?”</p>
<p>“I- I don’t…” It was just flashes and feelings. “I think you gave me coal?” There were flashes of fire as well as searing heat. “It’s… It’s all really foggy.”</p>
<p>Adam put his hand on his hips. “You gave him coal? That’s only for bad kids, I thought!”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t just him! Gave lots of kids coal. More interesting than dolls and trains if you ask me,” Crowley said with a glare. “Now come ‘ere. These eyes aren’t all that good at a distance.”</p>
<p>He shuffled up, realising as he drew closer that Aziraphale, who was sitting all prim and proper next to Crowley, seemed to be made of stitched together fabric. Much like his patchwork coat. “Why is everyone here so <em>weird</em>?”</p>
<p>“'Cause we like it that way, right angel?”</p>
<p>“That's very true, but I don't think it fully answers his question.” Aziraphale patted his arm and smiled at the former human. His skin was tinted like flame under the mud the poor thing had climbed out of, hair dark and chin-length and possibly on fire at the ends. “We're not human, my dear boy, and neither are you anymore. We're born of and through Halloween.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” That explained a little bit, but not nearly enough. “But how did I <em>get</em> here? I was just…” He didn’t know, couldn’t remember what might have come before except for fire and walking and crawling out of the mud.</p>
<p> Crowley was staring with his head cocked to the side. Now that the kid was close enough to not be a blurred mess of browns and the occasional flair of orange or red, the pieces were slotting into place. “Well, from the look of you, I’d say fire did it. Used that coal, eh?”</p>
<p>A memory came, unbidden, of using a pocket knife to carve a hole in his dad's most recent deer head. Dropping a handful of coal, some newspaper, and a lit match into it and laughing at the smoke that poured out. “I- I think so.” The fire had spread much quicker than anticipated. “Did… did I die?”</p>
<p>“Yup,” Crowley said, nodding. “S'a pretty typical way to get here.” He then actually looked slightly embarrassed. “Might be my fault, a bit. I <em>do</em> remember you, mighta been meeting me’s what brought you here. Or the, er, failed Christmas take over. One of those.”</p>
<p>While initially concerning, he found the more he thought about it, the less it seemed to matter. He was here and these people didn’t seem all that bad, no matter how weird they were. “Oh, that’s… fine. I guess. Do you… do you remember my name?”</p>
<p>Crowley grinned. “'Course I do. You were a little spoiled brat.” He held out his hand for a shake. “Welcome to Halloween Town, Warlock. Let's get you cleaned up and get you settled. I’m sure Adam here and his friends will help you learn the ropes.”</p>
<p><em>Warlock</em>. Yes, that was his name. He could remember it now. This strange serpent man coming up the stairs; <em>have I got something for you, then, Warlock</em>. His mother scolding him; <em>Warlock! Put that down!</em> His father coming home after a business trip; <em>Let's go play ball, Warlock!</em></p>
<p>He shook Crowley’s hand, the skin cooler than expected. Yeah, these people weren’t so bad.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><span class="u">ladydragona</span><br/>A character does, in fact, die. However they don't quite remember how exactly that happens, just that there was fire. They do come back and the fic is told from their perspective. Their human death is not described in detail and they come back very quickly and are generally okay once they get their bearings.</p>
<p>Find us on tumblr at <a href="https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/">SylWritesStuff</a> and <a href="https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/">theladydrgn</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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